


The Alpha LT and the Prodigal Son

by Bellaromanza



Category: Generation Kill, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 05:42:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26348053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellaromanza/pseuds/Bellaromanza
Summary: Stiles is recruited by the military for his unique knowledge-but the military is the same all over. It hates change.You know how Stiles is, he'll bring the fight to you if he thinks he needs to.So, I wrote this years ago and found it on an old hardrive. It's 'as is', meaning it's as finished as I am going to make it.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 15
Kudos: 121





	The Alpha LT and the Prodigal Son

Stiles was thoroughly unsurprised to be approached by the military in his senior year of college. They’d been sniffing around him since his second year. Sniffing, hah, he loved a good werewolf joke. 

He was majoring in International Relations with minors in Native American Studies, Anthropology and Latin. It was an unusual mix, but when you dealt with the supernatural on a daily basis throughout your teen years, and were part of a pack that was rapidly growing up and getting a rep, you needed all of the diplomacy and crap you could get. 

“Mr. Mieczyslaw Stilinski,” the man in the military uniform began and stopped when Stiles groaned and rolled his eyes. 

“Really? In all of your intelligence gathering, no one wrote that I haven’t gone by Mieczyslaw since I was like, six? Please, call me Stiles.” 

The steel-haired dark eyed man huffed a bit but smiled. “Stiles it is. Have you ever thought about joining the military?” 

Stiles regarded the man, taking in the eagles on the epaulets, the hat with all of the shiny swag beside him on the chair and the two hulking men in uniform at the door, both of whom were werewolves. He could tell.

“Um, no. I have a hard time following directions. I have references.” 

One of the wolves shifted slightly and Stiles caught the flash of a smile across his face. 

“We could teach you that,” the man on the couch said. 

As if. If his dad and Derek couldn’t, then these jokers didn’t stand a chance. Stiles rolled his eyes hard. 

“Let’s cut the bullshit, shall we? You know that I know about werewolves,” he said and watched as the two wolves at the door stiffened in surprise, “and you want me for my inside knowledge of the packs and their customs etcetera etcetera.” 

The man smiled slightly, not even phased. “You’re absolutely right. We need someone to help us understand the wolves we have in uniform and we think that you’re the right man for the job.” 

“There are a lot of humans who live with packs,” Stiles pointed out. 

“I’ve heard,” the man agreed, “but most of them don’t want to leave their packs. There is a war going on, as you know. There's an idea that we're not helping the wolves we have the best way we can.”

Sighing, Stiles knew he was a sucker for wanting to help. He thought hard about all of the different things that could go to shit about the situation. How there was a war going on at home as well, but it had eased somewhat with the dramatic death of the Darak, then of Gerard Argent and his cronies (and the unbearable losses of Boyd and Erica) with the emphatic message that Beacon Hills was Hale Territory again. 

“How long would I have to be in?”

“Four years active, four reserve.” 

Stiles eyed the man for a long moment. “Active or inactive reserve?”

The man eyed him back with some surprise. “You’re more informed that I gave you credit for.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard all of the ivory tower of education jokes. I’ll give you four active and two inactive reserve except in special circumstances. And I’ll need to speak to my Alpha first.” 

Both wolves looked surprised that Stiles had agreed. He was kind of surprised too and hope it wouldn’t bite him in the ass.

“Very well,” the man stood up and held out a business card. “I’m Colonel Bryan Patterson. Marine Corps, in case you were wondering. Give me a call.” 

“Colonel,” Stiles said politely, shaking the man’s hand. He looked at the two wolves and smirked. “Ought to be interesting.” 

~*~

A year later Lt. Stiles M. Stilinski USMC was at Forward Operating Base Grizzly and so so bored. For a little over six months he’d been shunted from base to base, updating the officer in charge of whatever squad of wolves were there, about were behavior and how to utilize them better. 

The first base he’d been to he’d absentmindedly referred to the wolves as a pack and had been lectured by the guy, a Captain with an attitude the size of Jackson’s with none of the charm, had self-righteously informed him that the wolves were NOT pack, but instruments of killing for the military to utilize. Stiles had argued with the man until he was blue in the face and was threatened with a court-martial for insubordination. Throwing up his hands, Stiles had left the man to stew in his ignorance and if there’d been any charges levied they’d disappeared. 

The problem was that every base had been the same mindset (military drones, the lot of them, with no imagination and worse, no compassion) and he could see the military just throwing away the potential in the wolves. They weren’t just fighting machines but were superior for reconnaissance and about a thousand other things-but after being fought over every change he’d suggested, Stiles had quit. Just quit. There was no point if no one was going to listen and he’d started hanging out in the med tent to help out and catch up on the local gossip. Besides, if there was anything he was good at it was patching up people in a crisis.

What was worse is that the wolves on the bases went out of their way to not greet him or eat with him or spend any time with him and he felt the rejection keenly. He was trying to help them, not upset the apple cart or the status quo or whatever. 

“Narrow-minded fuck-witted morons,” he grumbled, even thinking about it made him crazy. He should just call the Colonel and get sent home where he could at least be useful. Thank Thor and all of the little fishes for the huge care package from the pack that had arrived that afternoon. It was filled with letters from home, good coffee, hot chocolate packets, diaper wipes (those and batteries were a black market commodity at Grizzly), Skittles, pop-tarts and assorted goodies. At the bottom was a new hoodie. It was red with the graphic of a large black wolf with red eyes howling at the moon. It made Stiles laugh like a little kid and he put it on immediately. He could feel the tenseness in his body relax. It was like he was being hugged by the pack. 

His stomach rumbling reminded him that if he didn’t get to the mess he’d be eating the Skittles for dinner. He straightened his bunk, threw the box of goodies beneath and stepped out of his tent and took a deep breath of the cool mountain air before he jogged over to the mess tent. Stiles ignored the table of bearded Spec ops werewolves to his left and didn’t notice that their eyes all widened as they smelled him when he walked past. Grabbing a metal tray he accepted the lasagna, bowl of salad and green beans before heading to the table with all of the other officers. 

“Hey, Stilinski,” one of the local Blackhawk pilots greeted him cheerfully. 

“Hunter,” Stiles replied, the irony of the man’s name not lost on him, even as he settled in beside him. Several of the other guys, some Air Force, some Marines and some Army echoed the greeting and Stiles smiled back. At least he wasn’t a pariah everywhere. “What’s shakin’, bacon?” he asked cheekily.

Hunter rolled his eyes good naturedly at the greeting. “I heard you got a package.” His head inclined at the bright red hoodie with a smirk. The man had the black soul of a pawn shop owner, but if you needed anything or had anything to trade then Hunter was the man to see. 

Stiles shot the man a grin and pretended to model the hoodie. “Rumor mill is correct.” He shoveled some lasagna in and drank some coffee, which wasn’t as shitty as usual. The mess sergeant must’ve been drunk again. 

“Sooo?” The man drawled. “What can you trade?” 

“You were gone yesterday,” Stiles countered. “What do you have?”

“I was in battle at the border, not on a shopping trip,” Hunter said with exasperation. “I’m good but not that good.” Actually he was that good. He’d once brought back three goats and a pretty gray donkey on his helo from a battle, which he’d then traded to the local warlord for homemade rugs and information. The base CO had not been amused and Hunter had been punished by having to clean his helo from blades to skids by hand. With a kitchen sponge. 

“Whatever,” Stiles said but his attention had gone to the wolves table where their Captain was loudly berating one of the men, and it looked like it was getting ugly and personal because several of the guys were starting to get a little stiff and hairier than usual around the edges. 

“I’m looking for …” but Hunter trailed off when he saw where Stiles attention was focused. “What? Oh, that guy is a dick. Every time I see him he’s on their asses about something. Rumor has it he was CIA before he was assigned to the Spec ops guys. It’s a wonder he hadn’t been fragged.” There was a commotion of chairs being shoved back and angry voices.

“It looks like his luck is about to change,” Stiles said and scrambled from his chair. He ducked out of the tent after the wolf who was about to lose his shit and disembowel his commanding officer, and while it would be entertaining because apparently the guy really could use a good disemboweling, it would be bad for business. 

Ahead of him he saw the wolf going into a tent and two of the wolves station themselves outside. He saw them see him but as they moved to block him, he snarled, “Back off, pups,” satisfied to his bones when they jerked back from him and he ducked into the tent. 

Once inside he saw the wolf, now fully shifted and the about to be former asshole shrinking back into his chair and he grabbed a Star and Stripes, rolled it and thwacked the wolf on the back of the head. “No!” he shouted in his best Derek voice. “Bad!” and the wolf went to the floor with a surprised whine. 

Then Stiles turned to the officer, using the rolled up newspaper as a pointer. “And you, you douche-nozzle. What the ~actual fuck~ were you thinking? You don’t treat wolves that way, they’re people too, you know!” 

There was a chuckle from the side but Stiles had already clocked that the two men who’d apparently been there before the fracas weren’t a threat and ignored them. 

“Well?” he demanded of the Captain who was trying to regain his composure. 

“He disobeyed a direct order!” the man blustered. “And you can’t speak to me that way!” 

Stiles let the newspaper drop and planted both hands on the man’s desk, leaning forward menacingly. “I don’t give a flying ~fuck~ if you’re CIA or NID or CSI or whatever fucking alphabet agency. I just saved your life, you giant half-witted moron. He would have ripped you open like a piñata and then they would have snuck your body into the surrounding hills and ‘discovered’ you, after you heroically tried to perform recon by yourself, or some such REMF fantasy bullshit. Then someone would write the bogus cover story to explain away your death and some other fuck-witted moron would be assigned to these guys.” 

“Someone like you,” the amused man to the left spoke and Stiles glanced over. 

“Gee, thanks, sir,” Stiles replied sarcastically, abruptly recognizing the man who had originally recruited him. He nodded politely to the Gunnery Sergeant who stood tensely beside the Colonel. “Gunny, can you believe this mess?”

“I can believe anything when it comes to officers, sir,” was the calm but droll reply, making Stiles snicker. 

“Not nice, Colbert,” the Colonel said but his voice was amused. He smiled and got to his feet, “Well, I was waiting to speak to Captain Bowen, but I think I need to speak to you, Lieutenant.” He turned to the Captain and said in a surprisingly gentle voice. “Pack up your things and wait for me at out-processing. You and I are going to have a discussion when we get back to Kandahar.” 

“Yes, sir,” Bowen stuttered before glaring at Stiles and very carefully inching his way around the wolf that was sub-vocally growling and hurried out of the tent. Colbert leisurely followed. 

Stiles stepped between the wolf and the Colonel. “I’m going to send Zeller on his way, sir.” 

The wolf looked up in surprise, but Stiles kept his eyes on the Colonel. 

Patterson smirked. “Douche-nozzle? Really?” 

Stiles rolled his eyes before he glared down at the prostrate wolf. “You will go with Sergeants Stacy and Williams and return to your tent. Understood? And none of you will leave until I speak to you, and if that should be a fucking decade then your asses better be there, gray hair, beer gut and all, capisce?” 

Sgt. Zeller nodded rapidly, already shifted back human. “Sir, yes, sir,” and dashed out of the tent like his ass was on fire. 

“Have a seat in your chair, Lieutenant Stilinski,” Patterson ordered. 

Stiles rounded the desk but his nose wrinkled when he saw the condition of the chair. He silently grabbed the towel that was slung over the file cabinet drying and threw it on the chair and then carried the whole thing outside and placed it by the side of the entrance before coming back indoors and grabbing a folding chair. He settled behind the desk, and then looked at the Colonel. 

“Welcome to Camp Grizzly. Sorry about the fucked up welcome.” 

Patterson burst into outright laughter at this. After a minute he settled down with a chuckle and head-shake. “I need you to take over here, Stilinski. It’s been FUBARed almost beyond repair and I need someone I can trust.” 

“It’s not FUBARed just here, sir. The problem is everywhere,” Stiles said pointedly. “Not to mention that the wolves in country do not trust me.”

“It’s not that,” the Colonel replied. “And you should know this, Stilinski. It’s about them smelling your pack and respecting your boundaries.”

Taking this in, Stiles nodded slowly. He could understand that and he wanted to smack himself in the head for not realizing that was what the problem had been.. “I’m going to run it my way,” he warned. 

“If it gets results you can dress them up in pink, frilly lace,” Patterson said and got to his feet, laughing at the face Stiles made. “Get me results, Lieutenant.” 

Stiles stood up and saluted. “Sir, yes, sir.” 

“We don’t salute indoors without our covers, Lieutenant,” the Colonel scolded. “Nice hoodie by the way,” he said with a wry smile, slipped on his cover and ducked out of the tent. 

Stiles glanced down at his hoodie and sighed. He was only a little out of uniform. Nothing to do for it now, he decided and looked around the messy tent that was the command tent for the werewolves. It was a shithole, but now it was his shithole. 

“Sir?” a wolf stuck his head in, holding the rest of the meal Stiles had left behind in the mess tent, with a fresh cup of coffee still gently steaming. 

“Come in, Sgt. Blue,” Stiles said. He indicated where the man should set down his dinner and regarded him silently until the wolf flushed and went to parade rest. 

“Sir.” 

Stiles nodded. “Pack meeting at 2100. Unless someone is dying everyone will be here.” He could hear the ‘Derek’ in his voice and only freaked out a little. 

“Yes, sir,” 

“Thanks for my dinner,” Stiles said gently. “You’re dismissed.” 

The wolf nodded, and left at all possible speed. 

“Fuck my life,” Stiles complained but pulled his dinner to him and began to eat. It was already 1800 and he needed to go through the office and see what else the douche-nozzle had fucked up. 

Stiles walked into the tent and someone yelled, “Atten-hut!” and the squad of wolves went to attention. 

“At ease,” Stiles said with exasperation. “I’m neither old enough nor senior enough to need that bullshit.” He watched them settle back, none of them quite relaxed but all eyes were on him. 

“How many of you are Betas?” he asked and only five raised their hands. “The rest of you are omegas?” 

A murmured chorus of ‘Yes, sirs’, was heard. 

Stiles nodded. “That’s going to change,” he said. “I don’t care what moto REMF bullshit the military has fed you. They are wrong and we’re going to fix it.”

One of the Betas cleared his throat and Stiles nodded. “Go ahead.” 

“I don’t see how you can, sir. We’re just here to do their killing for them.” 

“Which is bullshit,” Stiles pointed out. “I know what your noses can do, what your eyes and ears can do. I’ve seen how faithful, how loyal, how strong that you are. And I’m going to make it right. As of right now, we are Pack.” He ignored the quiver of shock that went through the men. 

“There will be no more omegas, none of you are alone. I am your Alpha. I am your mother, your father, your family.” He stopped and looked each wolf in the face. 

“We are PACK!” he roared and the men roared with him. 

~*

It had only been six months but Stiles still felt faintly ridiculous at being the pseudo alpha, or ‘alpha-lite’ as Peter called him, not the least of which was the six sleeping werewolves between him and the flap to his tent. 

“Dudes, I’ve got to go pee and if I step on you, too damn bad,” he said and stumbled towards the door but you had to hand to them, wolves were quick and no one was accidentally trod on. 

Stiles stepped out into the frigid air, immediately if not resentfully awake. He checked the time and jogged over to the latrine where he peed, washed his hands and face before heading back to his tent. He gently kicked the youngest wolf who jerked awake. “Time for PT.”

“You suck, sir,” the wolf bitterly complained but grinned when Stiles only laughed at him. 

“I gotta suffer, you gotta suffer.” 

Stiles didn’t have to wake any of the others and watched them as he dressed into PT gear. It was never the same six twice and he honestly appreciated it, it reminded him of home, and that maybe he was doing something right. 

His version of the military wolf pack had been wildly successful during the past six months, and he hadn’t even had to resort to anything pink and frilly. His squad had sniffed out enough suicide bombers and put down enough Taliban insurgents that the base commander was making noises to lend them out to other FOB’s. Colonel Patterson was pleased as punch, making his own noises about him training other packs and now Stiles was waiting for the next sandbag to fall on his head. 

Outside men began to run and Stiles joined in, his five miles a day his own special hell but he could say he was in the best fucking shape of his life, for reals. 

“Lt. Stilinski,” someone called from the perimeter of where the men were running. Stiles slowed down and caught sight of what he swore looked like a Green Beret Major. 

“Fuck me,” he grumbled and waved a hand at his wolves to keep running. “Markowitz, Daniels, finish up and relieve the gate for chow.” 

“Sir, yes, sir,” the two called out. 

“Breakfast first,” he called back because he’d learned the hard way that they’d forgo their own if they thought he wanted them to. Then he wandered over to the waiting Major. 

“Lt. Stiles Stilinski, but you knew that.” He forgot to salute. 

The Green Beret Major was tall, taller than Stiles who’d finally gotten his last growth spurt in college and ended up at a respectable 6’1”. He looked Stiles over and sighed roughly. “Major Scott Allen.” 

Stung at having been obviously found wanting for no reasons that he could discern, Stiles looked over at his guys and watched them for a minute before looking back at the Major. 

“So, what can I do for you, sir?” 

“I need you to train my men,” the Major asked softly. 

Puzzled, Stiles stared at the man. “Uh...what?” 

“Colonel Patterson sent me,” the Major said after a long moment. 

“Ah,” Stiles said, everything clearer. The man was in charge of a wolf platoon somewhere. “Sure, bring them whenever. I can help you with them.” 

“I’m not sure I can do it,” the Major confessed unhappily. “They don’t trust me.” 

Stiles snorted. “It’s not in their nature to do so. I kept trying to tell you jokers but nobody listened. And now here we are, up shit creek without paddles or canoes or even tied together log rafts.” 

Allen sighed and rolled his eyes deprecatingly. “Look, I was given command and the rumor was that you were a wet behind the ears Lieutenant and a Marine at that. How were we supposed to know that we were fucking up?” 

“Duh, you might have listened to me or looked at your men. OR what was left of them after they’d been used for cannon fodder.” 

Stiles had started out with his own squad and inherited another and had yet to lose a wolf, because he knew his shit and knew what his pups (he shouldn’t think of them that way, but they reminded him of his own pack back in high school-young and dumb) could do. 

“How long will it take to teach me?” 

Stiles looked the man over and went with his gut. The guy seemed earnest enough but he’d have his own wolves suss out the situation with Allen’s. “Bring ‘em all with you and your own supplies. If you can’t tell, Grizzly is making do.” 

“We’ll be here in three days,” Allen agreed and with a nod headed off to the jeep he’d used to travel to Grizzly. 

“Well, well,” Hunter said as he strolled up. “What’s with the Baby Eater?” 

Stiles snorted at the derogatory term for Green Berets, but smiled at the pilot. “He’s bringing his guys to train with ours.”

“You mean your super duper band of almost real boys?” Hunter teased. 

Stiles shrugged. The man was right. The wolves had been so isolated that the rest of the base had pretty much hated them on principle. Stiles had changed that, getting them to interact with the rest of the base, either during PT, the careful wrestling matches or basketball games between companies. Some even went to church services, anything to make them less separate and more human. 

“Ha ha. I laugh in your general direction,” Stiles said, dry as bone before he stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled at his guys. He made a ‘wind it up’ motion before turning back to Hunter. ”I need a phone card. Can you get me one?”

“I’ll do you one better. I have some Skype time. When do you need it?” 

Stiles made a face. “Any time before Thursday.” 

Hunter smirked. “What do you have to trade?”

Pretending to think, Stiles grinned at the pilot. “I just happen to have five pounds of Kona coffee to trade.” 

“Kona, huh?” Hunter said, pretending to consider. “Throw in some wipes and you have yourself a deal.” 

Rolling his eyes, Stiles snorted. He knew how the game was played. “Yeah, right. I get Skype time and a calling card and you can have all five pounds or I’m gonna divvy it up and…” 

“Okay!” Hunter yelped, not wanting the deal to slip through his fingers. There were men and women who’d kill for Kona coffee, and most of them higher ranked officers with money, like the docs. “Done, geez. Skype time and a calling card.” 

“Thanks!” Stile grinned and held out his hand for the shake to seal the deal. 

Derek was sitting impatiently in front of Scott’s laptop when it dinged. Scott opened the window and they could see Stiles and both men whooshed out sighs of relief. He looked so different after a year in Afghanistan. More grown up, broader, tanned and weathered by the life there but his whiskey colored eyes were still bright and his smile was easy.

“Hey, Sourwolf and Brother wolf! How’s tricks?” Then of course he opened his mouth and it was like you’d went back in time. 

Scott grinned at his best friend. “We’re great! How are you doing? Is everything going okay?” 

Stiles grinned back fondly. “Yeah, we’re all hanging in there. Thanks for the care packages. It keeps me in bribes.” 

Derek smiled slightly. Lydia was the queen of the care packages and would scoop out anyone’s eyes with a rusty spoon if they got into her way. She and Allison would take Stiles’ wishlists and run with them, making sure to include things that their missing pack member could use as barter. 

“Good. How is your pack?” he asked, Alpha to Alpha. He’d okayed Stiles’ unintentional but needed transformation into the leader of the military wolves and he was proud to see how well Stiles was doing with what the young Marine officer had fondly described as his pack of misfit toys.

Stiles’ eyes glowed with pride. “They’re so great! Even the new kids are doing really well. We’ve had some big successes here, though you won’t see it on the news.” 

“That’s great, Stiles,” Scott said and he not so gently shoved Derek to the side so he could see into the screen better and Derek sighed heavily but let him. “Guess what?” 

Stiles shrugged. “Dude, I may be alpha but divination is not my strong suit.” 

Scott rolled his eyes at the Harry Potter reference. “I asked Allison to marry me!” he told his oldest friend with glee. “We’re hoping you’ll be able to get leave.” 

“Yes!” Stiles crowed and pumped a fist. “I knew she’d say yes, you moron! See? Wise Stiles knows and sees all!” 

“I thought you didn’t do divination,” Scott said sweetly and grinned when Derek huffed a chuckle. 

“Wait, did my ears deceive me? Did Sourwolf actually laugh? Do it again so I can record it for the future when people will disbelieve me,” Stiles said with a laugh of his own. 

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek growled but it was fondly half hearted and both of his pack knew it. 

“Ha, I’m in Afghanistan and you can’t shove me into a wall, or tent here I guess.” 

Derek rolled his eyes. “Why did you call, Stiles? I know it wasn’t to hear the gossip.” 

“It could have been,” Stiles protested. 

Scott rolled his eyes as well. “Yeah, right. I know that the girls, Isaac and your dad send you huge letters with everything that’s going on.” 

Stiles grinned and rubbed a hand over his head. “Yeah, maybe. Hey, Scott-o-licious. Can I talk to Derek now? It’s important.” 

“As long as you promise to never call me that again. And we’ll email you deets on the wedding and stuff. It’s gonna be sooner than later,” Scott said and smiled with wicked glee. “Ally’s pregnant.” And he scurried away while Stiles stared into the screen in disbelief. 

“Oh my god, did he say pregnant?” 

Derek smiled slightly. “I know, right? His mom was pissed when she found out and read him the riot act about birth control and ‘he worked for a vet for goodness sake and I knew I should have asked Alan to neuter you as a precaution.’ But secretly she’s excited to be a grandma.” 

Stiles smiled. “Hey, that means Dad’s gonna be a grandpa and I don’t have to produce evil ankle biting monsters. Yay, Scott!” He raised his arms in triumph. Stile’s father and Scott’s mom had finally gotten together, bonding over the crazy werewolf stuff that their kids were involved in during Stiles and Scott’s senior year. Their relationship had grown and they’d married in Stiles’ junior year of college, making Stiles and Scott brothers in truth.

Now Derek did laugh and Stiles laughed with him. After a minute they settled back down and Stiles got serious. 

“Okay, here’s what’s up,” he said and outlined what was about to happen, including an influx of wolves who didn’t have a proper pack hierarchy into his own well organized and well-disciplined pack. 

Derek nodded after Stiles wound down and gave him some ideas that he could use. Things his parents had done when new wolves had applied to their pack. Problems that could happen and how they’d been solved. 

“I think you’ve got great instincts, Stiles. Use them. Be Alpha and don’t take any shit and for God’s sake, don’t get hurt again.” 

“Who me?” Stiles scrunched up his face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. And it was only once,” he lied. It had been like four times, but all accidents. Really. 

“Uh huh, just remember what I said, Alpha Stilinski.” 

Stiles sighed. “Yeah, okay, Thanks for talking me off of the ledge.” 

Derek gently rested his fingers on the screen and smile softly when Stiles did the same. He could almost pretend that they were touching. “Miss you.” 

“Me too,” Stiles said and the screen timed out. 

“Fuck,” Derek breathed out with a long sigh. Then he made himself get up and do the Alpha things he was supposed to do so he could ease the ache of missing Stiles that seemed like a rock in his chest. 

~

The Berets arrived at Camp Grizzly bright and early that Thursday morning. There were ten of them plus Major Allen and all screamed bad attitude and Stiles just wanted to facepalm. He’d told Scott he wasn’t psychic but sometimes he wondered. He girded his loins (why the hell did they call it that, it always sounded faintly BDSM to him) and walked over to greet the newcomers. He was aware that there at least nine of his wolves in close vicinity, not to mention the two at the front gates to Grizzly, and all were not paying attention to their own jobs. 

“Knock it off, fellas,” he said under his breath. “I’ve got this.” 

“Greeting, fellow earthlings,” he said a bit facetiously as he remembered to salute Major Allen and then shook his hand. “Sir, I see everybody made it okay.” 

One of the Berets fake coughed into his hand, “Fucking human.” Stiles tilted his head to the side in silent order to his growling wolves. 

Allen apparently hadn’t heard the wolf because he smiled with something like relief. “Lieutenant, it’s good to see you again. Where should we set up?” 

Stiles didn’t even have to motion for his 2IC. Gunnery Sergeant Jared Brandt came forward and saluted. 

“Let me show you, sir.” His face was cool and polite but his hackles were raised and the beret wearing wolves knew it. The fact that Jared was totally 6’3” and built like a brick shithouse meant that no one would mess with him. 

“We’ll reconvene at 1200,” Stiles said. “Do you have someone to handle your stuff or do you want to come with me?” 

Allen, proving that he wasn’t stupid and about to leave ten semi feral werewolves on their own, shook his head. “I’ll see you at 1200, Stilinksi. I want to make sure we get settled in without any problems.” 

“Yes, sir,” Stiles agreed easily and watched carefully as the Green Berets followed Jared to their new digs for the next few days. “Fuck me,” he sighed. 

Jared led the Green Berets to a large tent that had been set up for them, slipping inside to hold the large flap for their guests. The soldiers followed silently, none of the easy natured joshing and joking around that you would usually hear from a group of soldiers. 

“Listen up,” he said and all of the wolves’ heads snapped around to watch him. Even the Major stopped trying to set up his cot and looked at him.

“There are a few ground rules,” he began quietly. “One, you are to behave like humans on base. That means you will interact with other people on base and not stick to your own guys. Mingle, enjoy meeting new people. There are some smokin’ hot corpsmen here, but treat them nicely,” he warned lightly. “Two, you will be at every pack meeting the Lieutenant orders. There will be no exceptions, because if we have to look for you, you’ll hate what happens next.” His sharp eyes caught the looks that the Berets were giving each other, like they weren’t sure what to think, especially about his Lieutenant. “And three, if you have any questions feel free to speak to any of the pack on base. There are twenty-four of us. Part of those will, of course, be on missions and there are always two of us on gate duty. Any questions?” 

“No, Sergeant,” was muttered.

Jared nodded. “Call me Gunny. Sir, with your permission?” he asked. 

Major Allen nodded. “Thanks for the help, Gunny.” 

“Yes, sir,” Jared replied politely and left the tent. He could hear the low murmur of voices and the Major’s as he called out orders and knew without looking that three of the pack were monitoring the newcomers for the LT. The Berets were not as fucked up as the squad of misfits they’d inherited before, but their attitude was more lost and even more mean and he knew that the LT had his work cut out for him. 

‘

Stiles sighed as he checked his watch. No time left, well, almost none as he shoveled the rest of his mac and cheese into his mouth, drained his coffee and got to his feet. It was time to face the music, pay the piper, smoke the last cigarette…

“It’ll be fine, boss,” Sgt. Blackfeather said, apparently using his werewolf extra sensory perception to cut through Stiles’ low level anxiety. “They’re a bunch of weenies but you’ll set ‘em straight.” 

“Stop reading my mind, creeper,” Stiles grumped, but managed a grin at the bark of laughter from the sergeant. 

“Lieutenant!” a voice shouted and Stiles turned to see one of his pups at the door to the tent. “Trouble!” 

Stiles pointed at Blackfeather. “You jinxed us, dude. Thanks a lot.” 

The other man laughed, even as he dogged Stiles’ heels to the rumble in the middle of one of the dusty roads in the camp. It was one of the Berets and one of Stiles’ pack, and Stiles resisted a face palm. 

“Atten-shun!” was shouted and the wolves backed away from each other, both bleeding freely and breathing hard. 

“What in the name of the holy Krispie Kreme is going on here?” he demanded, walking between the two of them. There were snickers from some of the watching soldiers and Marines. They’d all learned early not to get in between the spec ops asshole’s fights and it was always entertaining when Stiles did. 

Jones, Stiles’ wolf, wiped his bloody mouth. “Just some tussling, sir.” 

“Really? That’s what you’re going with?” Stiles asked with some disbelief, eyebrows way up. He hadn’t been hanging around with wolves for almost ten years for nothing. He could tell an outright lie to his face with one arm tied behind his back and both eyes shut. 

“I told him, ~sir~, that I thought he was a fucking pussy to take orders from you,” the other wolf growled. 

“Oooohhh,” was murmured through the crowd and Stiles smiled slightly. 

“Is that right?” Stile said, leaning forward to catch the wolf’s name. “PFC Peters. And why is that, do you think?” 

“You’re not one of us,” the wolf replied belligerently. He was careful not to specify ‘not wolf’ and for that Stiles was grateful. It was almost an open secret but there were still a few that didn’t know and Patterson had asked him to do his best to keep it that way.

“I’m not one of you, “~sir~”,” Stiles enunciated clearly and the wolf snarled a less than gracious ‘sir.

Stiles glanced around at the crowd, caught the Major’s eye and wordlessly asked if he could school the little bastard. The Major smirked and inclined his head and Stiles flicked his fingers at Jones. “Get cleaned up, Jonesy.” 

Jones smothered his smirk, he knew what was coming. “Yes, sir.” 

“And you’re on latrine detail for three days.” It was one of the worst punishments you could give to a wolf with a sensitive nose.

“But sir,” Jones whined but at the look on his CO’s face, sighed. “Yes, sir.” 

Stiles had turned slightly to say something to one of his guys when he sensed the attack. He turned slightly, caught the kid with his shoulder and flipped him cleanly over his back. He spun fast enough to see the heavy thud of the wolf and hear the air whoosh out of his lungs in surprise.

Stepping back, Stiles watched the young wolf he got to his feet and shook himself. He was broad-shouldered like most of the wolves of his acquaintance, and the bitter, slightly crazed look with eyebrows was eerily reminiscent of Derek, but he didn’t sense murder on the kid’s mind, only fear and bitterness. Peters charged again, lightening quick but Stiles was quicker and he lifted one booted foot and shoved it directly into the charging wolf’s solar plexus, knocking him flat on his back. 

Then he used all of the speed he’d learned from years of training with Derek and his own pack and leapt forward, pulling his knife he’d made, handle out of mountain ash and blade of iron soaked in wolfsbane, out of his boot at the same time and pinned the kid to the ground, knife at his throat. He saw the exact moment the wolf caught the scent of the ‘bane and froze, eyes wide in shock. 

“Do you know how many times I’ve had to kill someone, Corporal Peters?” Stiles asked softly, almost conversationally. There was something familiar about this cocky, stupid ass kid but he let that go for the moment. 

“No sir,” Peters whispered, aware of how close the knife was. 

“More than the years you’ve lived, kid,” Stiles said quietly. “I’ve earned every scar, and the loyalty of the men here. So what you’re going to do while you’re here is learn why. There will be no more bullshit from you, understood?” 

Peters swallowed hard and turned his neck in surrender. Stiles nodded and gracefully got to his feet. “Gunny, get him sorted out and starting latrine detail with Jonesy.” Hopefully pairing the two troublemakers on the same nasty chore would bond them.

Jared jerked the kid to his feet and dragged him off. The crowd dispersed, and Stiles received a friendly backslap from Hunter with a grin. The base had seen him kick ass before and knew what to expect, though there was still betting every time. When Stiles saw the Major he jerked his head and the two men fell into step heading towards the tent that they used for his training. It was at the far edge of camp, far enough away to train but still be on base. 

“This is what I mean, Stilinski,” Allen said quietly. “I don’t know if I can do what you do.” 

Stiles shook his head and stopped to stare frankly at the man. “Sir, you’ve taken the first step before anybody else in this disgusting barbaric hellhole. You’ve acknowledged that you need some help. And me? I’m a helpful kind of guy. But, you don’t need to be ~me~, you just need to protect your wolves from stupidity. That’s it. That’s the secret.” 

Allen blinked, and Stiles could see the dawning comprehension. “Just treat them like regular guys.” 

Stiles snorted and continued walking. “Well, sorta. But that’s where I come in. I’ll teach you to make the best use of your guys, to keep them happy and healthy and less importantly, to be an asset to the brass here.” 

The Green Beret laughed loudly. “I think this is the beginning of the most fucked up friendship ever.” 

“Preach,” Stiles agreed. 

After the three days of punishment detail Stiles put his tray next to the new wolf with a grin. 

“So, how’s tricks?” 

Peters sent a glare towards Stiles and he realized that the kid really strongly reminded him of Peter and his sass, and he had to grin.

“I’ve seen an Alpha that could raise you that glare and make you piss your pants. You don’t scare me, kid.” 

Peters grunted. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t had an Alpha since I was really little.” 

Heads popped up all over and Stiles stared. “Really?”

“Well, my mom was Alpha.” Peters sighed. “She died when I was a little kid. My whole family did. Then I was I put in foster care until I aged out and I joined the military.” It was, unfortunately and all too familiar story, hunters being what they were. 

“So, the LT is the first Alpha in some time for you,” Jared said, measuring his words. 

There was silence at the table and Peters nodded. “Yeah.” 

And that was that. Stiles was the acknowledged Alpha. 

Training the Major was a little harder but Stiles liked him because he was willing to learn and he really cared for his men. His wolves. 

“I feel like I’m the slowest kid in the schoolyard,” Allen complained after watching Stiles direct the wolves with the barest head tilt. It was like watching poetry in motion. Or like the LT was psychic. 

Stiles looked at him, his arms folded. “Remember three things. They can smell, hear and see better than us. So much better that we can use them for everything you ever wished for in battle. Want to know where the mines are in the road? They can smell them. Want to know where the Taliban are hidden? They can sniff ‘em out. Seeing? They’re the best scouts, the very best.” 

“So, I really have to train them using my own version, or rather the Beret version of short hand.” 

“Exactly.” 

Stiles loved teaching for the very reason that he could he see the light dawn and he wished that he could have all of the commanders of every squad of wolves in the military here to see. To understand their wolves as people, and as assets. And maybe, as family. 

As a rule Stiles didn’t like to hang around his fellow Marine officers. Especially Colonels and Generals and the like. Unfortunately Colonel Patterson had insisted, firmly, that Stiles was supposed to be at the change of Command for Camp Leatherneck. Just because he was a freaking Marine. To share the misery he took some of the Berets with him and his group, cheerfully ignoring the bitching and moaning. He knew that Major Allen was relieved to be left behind. 

After they’d arrived from Grizzly, they’d been told to assemble in one of the buildings for the change of command and as they joined the other military streaming in. Stiles began to have one of his uneasy premonition type feelings. 

“Relax, boss,” Jared said in an aside as groups of local both uniformed and civilian Afghanis, other in-country Marines and assorted troops started to assemble. 

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles said, trying to still his fidgeting. 

He tried, he did, but after a minute he got onto his tip toes to glance around the crowd, his eyes narrowed as he searched for whatever was bothering him. His unease was so great that it was starting to affect the wolves with him in formation and they began to do some not so casual glancing around as well. 

“LT?” Jared asked, concerned now at Stiles’ easily felt agitation.

“Something’s wrong,” Stiles said flatly. 

Patterson was shaking hands with some officers he knew when Brad nudged him. “Something’s wrong, sir,” his Gunny said, sotto voce. He knew the tone of voice, Nate had told him the story of men in the trees in the OIF, of how Brad’s voice had been flat but full of certainty and Nate had known they were fucked. 

The Marine Colonel stiffened slightly and began to search for the threat. “What is it?”

“I don’t know but look at Stilinki’s platoon.” 

Spinning on his heel, Patterson stared at the werewolves and he could see what had caught Brad’s attention. The loose formation that they’d been in was disintegrating as Stilinki conferred with his Gunny and started quietly giving orders. The wolves were scattering around the large room as if searching for something and the unease in Patterson’s gut suddenly became a lot worse. 

“Check with Stilinksi,” he ordered and Colbert began to shoulder his way through the crowds while he headed to the VIP’s. 

Blackfeather and Peters were at the edge of the cadets from the local Afghan police academy when a scent caught Peters’ attention. It smelt slightly like the LT’s wolfbane soaked blade and like something with a hint of pollen underneath. 

The sharp movement of his head turning caught several of the wolves attention and now the dulled scent beneath came through, partially masked by the sour smell of sweat and what a couple of wolves start whispering was opium and now all of them realized that the Afghani man wearing the uniform of an Army officer was also wearing a bomb. 

“He’s wearing a suicide vest,” Jared said, trying to stay quiet to not alarm everyone. . 

Stiles shoved his way through the crowd, Jared in his wake as he kept repeating “Get his arms, don’t let him move his hands,” he ordered over and over. 

Peters and Blackfeather came at the guy from opposite directions and it was clear to them that the man knew that the jig was up because his hand moved. 

Kyle reached the bad guy and crushed his hand while the huge Native American Sergeant grabbed the other, their pressure bringing him to his knees. 

A completely covered Afghan woman started screeching and beating at Kyle with her fists and Kyle’s wolf was about to lose its shit when Gunnery Sergeant Colbert appeared out of the chaos and literally picked up the woman by her upper arms and moved her to some of the other wolves on the periphery.

“Okay, let’s have a look,” Colbert said as he knelt down in front of their suspect. He gingerly unbuttoned the dirty brown uniform blouse and held it open, and everyone was speechless. Attached to the guy’s chest was enough explosives to level the building they were in and part of the surrounding area as well.. 

“Yeah, okay, we need to evacuate the building,” Stiles said in the silence, “And maybe get EOD to make a house call.” The wolves and other Marines immediately jumped to and started hustling the civilians out while at the same time making sure that there was only one religious nutcase in the crowd.

“Allahu Akbar,” the guy snarled. 

“Oh, I agree,” Stiles answered thoughtfully. “I always thought that Islam was a lovely religion,” he squatted down to eye the very angry man seriously. “The Prophet was a big proponent of peace. But what you’re doing is making a mockery of his words.” 

“You know nothing! You are only here to take over our country.” 

“I don’t know,” Stiles answered the man, voice steady. “Do you really think we want to be here? You treat your women like shit and your religion like war. ”

“As you Americans say, ‘Fuck off’,” the man spat. 

Stiles shrugged and got to his feet. He brushed his hands together, symbolically washing his hands of the man. 

Colonel Patterson came over and shook his head at him. 

“Always an adventure with you, Stilinski.” 

With a snort, Stiles held up his hands. “Not my fault, sir,” he protested.

*~

Stiles watched with pride as the Major took control, made himself, if not Alpha, a really capable, strong beta. 

“They’re doing a lot better, boss,” Blackfeather said from beside him. They were watching the younger guys wrestle in front of them, good natured jeering from the sidelines. The Berets had come together better that Stiles and the Major had hoped, better that he’d dreamed. And maybe they’d never be family….and Stiles train of thought drove right off of the tracks. 

Peters was laughing, his head thrown as he traded insults. He took off his shirt and threw it into the face of one of the wolves and as he turned, the triskelion was like a sign on his back between his shoulder blades. 

Stiles’ heartbeat going through the roof made all of the wolves stop and turn to stare. 

“Sir? Lt? Are you okay?” 

“Oh my God,” Stiles said softly. “Kyle.” 

Peters turned and stared at him, puzzled. “Sir?” 

Stiles knew the litany of Derek’s losses, the names of his parents, the names of each and every one of his brothers, sisters, cousins, his uncles and aunts who’d died in the fire. It couldn’t be, shouldn’t be real and he was sure he was hallucinating. “Kyle, what’s your name? Your real name.” 

Kyle took his shirt back and wiped the dust from his face, puzzlement in every line of his face. Of his familiar hazel eyes. Fucking wolves on a pogo stick, Stiles thought dazedly

.“Kyle Hale Peters. I was in a coma for awhile and didn’t remember what happened to my family until later but by then I was in Arizona. I took my favorite uncle’s name as my last name, it hurt too much to use the last name of the family I lost.”

Stiles was shaking so hard. “They’re not all gone, Kyle. My Alpha is your brother Derek, Cora and your Uncle Peter survived.”

“No.” Kyle said with finality. “No fucking way,” he reiterated, his head shaking back and forth, eyes full of remembered grief. “My home burned, all of my family died. Social Services said so. They checked!” 

“They were either hunters, they lied or they didn’t know.” 

Kyle stared at Stiles. “Who are you?”

“I’m pack,” he choked and he reached out and grabbed Kyle to him, “Kyle Hale, you’re ~my~ pack,” he said and he could feel Kyle’s shock and surprise fade into disbelief because he knew he smelt like pack, like family, like home. 

Derek was at the airport waiting for Stiles to come off of his flight. He didn’t understand why he’d insisted that he’d come with only Cora and Peter, who was in the restroom at the moment but Stiles had insisted and as always, he gave in. 

“Not here yet?” Peter asked, checking his watch boredly. He hadn’t wanted to come, it wasn’t like he wasn’t going to see Stiles as the party later. Cora huffed a sigh at her uncle and rolled her eyes at Derek for forcing her to come along to pick up Stiles. 

People were streaming into the baggage claim when both they caught a scent and their heads snapped around. Stiles, in his Marine greens was walking towards them, a huge smile on his face and a younger uniformed soldier with a Green Beret at his shoulder and Derek’s breath caught in his throat. “No…” he breathed out in shock. Cora’s hands covered her mouth and tears began to stream down her face. 

Peter’s gasp was more profound and the three of them were frozen in shock as Stiles stopped in front of them. 

“I brought you the Christmas present to end all presents,” he said and jerked the equally shocked younger man forward from where he’d frozen. 

“Oh my God,” Kyle whispered and found himself engulfed by his long lost family. Tears ran unashamedly down his face, some of the broken, jagged pieces inside healing inside of him as he was pushed back and exclaimed over by his Uncle Peter and jerked back into a hug by his little sister before being squeezed again by Derek. 

Stiles couldn’t stop smiling and he could see people smiling as they maneuvered around their extremely emotional homecoming. Everyone assumed that it was a military homecoming, but it was a lost son come home, and maybe some old wounds healed. 

“Stiles,” Derek said, heart in his eyes and pulled him into the group hug. 

Kyle sat on the hood of the car and stared at the empty lot of his childhood home. 

“Stiles said that a hunter woman did this. That she got close to you and killed our family.”

“It was my fault.” Derek looked stoically at the house. 

This made Kyle snort. “Get off the cross, we need the wood.” 

“Hey!” Derek barked, offended and startled. 

“I don’t blame you. I talked to Uncle Peter and he doesn’t blame you, and Cora agreed. And we’d be the injured parties. Stiles told me that the ones to blame are dead and gone.” 

Derek sighed and the tension went out of his shoulders. “I’m so sorry. About everything. If we’d known…” 

Kyle rubbed a hand over his face. “I spoke to the Sheriff. His guess was a hunter found me wounded after I’d been thrown through a window after the initial explosion. He discovered his humanity and took me to Arizona.” 

“The Sheriff has been a great help to the pack.” 

“It’s unusual for law enforcement to know about us. Must be because Stiles is your mate,” Kyle said slyly. 

His brother cleared his throat. “I might not have told him.” 

Kyle threw his head back and laughed. “God, same old Derek. Would rather cut off an arm than discuss his feelings.” 

“I know how he feels,” Stiles said from behind them and the brothers jumped guiltily. 

“How did you not hear him?” Kyle hissed at his brother. 

“You’re a werewolf too!” Derek hissed back. 

Stiles laughed, low and lovely. “And I’ve been running with wolves for ten years and I’m a real live Marine officer. I’ve ~finally~ learned how to be sneaky.” He moved up and leaned against Derek comfortably. “You really need to stop treating this as a mausoleum. Build us a new place for when we get back home.”

“When is that?” Derek asked. He put an arm around Stiles’ much broader shoulders. The Marines had taken the boy and made him into confident, amazing man that Derek couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with. 

Kyle shrugged from where he was perched. “They say another year, maybe two tops. I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I don’t think so. Until the public finally convinces Congress that they’re done, and Congress convinces the President…” he trailed off meaningfully. “Anyway, my tour incountry is up in nine months and that means my pack rotates out with me. We’ll be at Fort Sill where they’ll rotate in the groups of wolves and I’ll train them before they rotate back” 

“How long will you be there? And where is there?” 

“Oklahoma,” Stiles said before he scuffed a boot. “And to the second question, no idea. I only have a little over a year so I won’t be sent back unless I re-enlist.” He stifled a smile as Derek hugged him closer in denial. 

Kyle shrugged, “I have three more years in my contract. I’ll be in country for another eighteen months according to the Major. But I’ll be here for Christmas.” 

“I might be bringing wolves with me,” Stiles said, eyes clear as he looked at Derek. “They don’t want to be omegas anymore.” 

Derek nodded. He’d heard all about Stiles’ wolves and knew they’d make good additions to their pack. Plus their military experience would further strengthen the packs’ reputation. 

"We can be their new home," Derek said, and Kyle smiled at his big brother. The same smile Derek remembered in snapshots in his memory, and he was so, so grateful.


End file.
